


Where Cuts Run Deep

by LilyAngorian



Series: A Gangster Always Needs A Nurse [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: And patched up by a familiar nurse, And teasing, Because she is far too sensible, F/M, Tension, Tommy is attacked, but no actual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3520115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyAngorian/pseuds/LilyAngorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A follow-up to 'Duty', though you don't necessarily have to read that to make sense of it. Stella is unamused to find Thomas Shelby wounded in the street, but steps in to help him. She finds herself alone with and caring for a man she doesn't trust and has little respect for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stella was walking with a faster pace than normal, hands buried deeply in the pockets of her coat, and collar turned up against the wind. She passed lighted windows, shadows moving behind the net curtains and muffled conversation coming from inside. Most people would be having dinner by now, she supposed, and at the thought she hastened along the road. Not that she could blame her hurrying steps on concern with being late. Tardiness was always unacceptable on shift, and Matron seemed particularly fond of berating them for it, amongst other things. But she wasn't due on shift for half an hour, and it would take her a fraction of that time to get there. The gnawing feeling deep in her gut did not stem from a concern about being scolded. It was simply that, ever since the war, even her days off seemed to be shaped by the hospital. Being on the wards gave her a comfort that she knew was almost unhealthy. Everything else was just as routine. Sleeping. Eating. Taking the train to visit her mother once every few weeks. It was like she couldn't bear to stop and breathe some days, even when she knew she had the time. Her mother always used to say cheerfully 'Keep busy, and if you're lucky, you can step out of and fall back into bed without a single stray thought crossing your mind in-between’. She never had any cheerful wisdom to impart these days. Not since they got the letter about Eddie.

And when any rare stray thoughts appeared in Stella’s mind she would shut her eyes and put them to the back, like she was folding blankets and stacking them in the cupboards. They never seemed of much importance. At least not compared with everything else. There was an elderly man under her care who barely spoke, his skin lined and cracked, like yesterday's paper burnt to a cinder on the fire. On another ward there was a woman who had been beaten so severely that her pale skin was almost unidentifiable beneath the bruises and cuts. She would not so much as look at the doctor, and would only ever talk to the nurses. It was always the quiet ones that stood out. Stella had grown so used to the screaming, to the violent and messy outbursts of agony, to the sobbing and shouting and cursing. It took silence to shock her now. And so if thoughts tumbled free of the neat pile in her head, she would not allow them to linger in the forefront, for fear of slipping into normality. The other girls seemed to be able to do it. They went to out to dances sometimes. They worried about what they would wear on their days off. Some of them had lovers. Some of them had memories. All of them clung to something, whether it was a letter from their parents, or an as yet unbroken promise, or a stolen kiss. But Stella had the hospital, and the smell that clung to her clothes and hair, and the way she held herself as she walked. She had never really known anything else, and she wasn't sure she wanted to.

Stella turned down into an alleyway, lifting her skirts as she crossed over a drain, the pungent smell of stale urine rising from the ground as she passed. The cobbles were uneven and patchy here and she had to slow down for fear of falling and dirtying her uniform. She heard coarse and angry voices in the distance, and realised after a few minutes walking that she was getting closer to them. She wondered if she should turn back, but the other way to the hospital was past enough pubs to warrant the same atmosphere, and she knew that one look at her uniform was usually enough to deter violence towards her from any man who had fought abroad. She knew it seemed strange to the new nurses being trained, that men could have more respect for certain women than they did for each other. She had seen some of them fluttering their eyelashes at passing men when their training ended for the day, enjoying the appreciation that was earned on their behalf by the women who would never have dared to behave in such a way. It did not anger her, but she could not help but feel slightly bitter when she saw it. Maybe France had ruined her. 

The voices grew louder and she slowed her pace right down and stayed lighter on her feet as she approached the darkest part of the alley, keeping to the shadows. Through the dim light she could just make out two men stood facing another, arguing loudly. They seemed to be talking about money, though by the time she had picked this up, the conversation appeared to have reached its end. She was just about to make to walk past them when she saw the faint moonlight catch on a blade. She stopped abruptly, and watched with shock as one of the men sank to the ground, while the other two turned and walked away, one of them spitting at the man before doing so. Stella felt her heart racing. She carefully approached the man on the ground, eyes darting around them for any sign of movement. When she was sure they were alone, Stella knelt beside the figure, all previous concern for dirtying her uniform now lost. She could feel the man's heavy breathing on her arm as she placed a hand on his shoulder. The sound was clearly punctuated by a few grunts of pain. At least he was still alive. She felt his hand groping in the near darkness, and eventually grasping one of her knees tightly through the fabric of her skirt. He turned his head towards her, and in the dim light she could just make out his face. She swore silently. Thomas. Fucking. Shelby. Well it would be, wouldn't it? 

“Its alright, I’m a nurse. We need to get you inside." She said, trying not to expose her annoyance. "How bad is it?" He took her hand and pulled it to his abdomen. She felt his body instinctively jerk away from her touch, as her fingers found the bloody flesh beneath the slashes in his clothing. Two swift cuts by the feel of it, not deep enough to be designed to kill. Just to mark. The bloody idiots. She eased his coat off of his shoulders, gently tugging his collar free and tucking it safely in one of the coat pockets. "Can you take your shirt off?" She asked calmly, feeling around on the ground for a sharp enough stone. He did not reply, but she saw him fumbling with the buttons. He got down to where the cuts were and shook his head. "I can't..." She gently eased the last few free for him, and, supporting his chest, pulled the arms free. "Keep pressure over them." As quickly as she could, using a piece of broken glass she ripped the shirt into a few long strips, and knotted each one carefully so that they formed makeshift bandages around the wounds. She made sure his hand pressed tightly over each layer as she reached for the next, but she could tell it was making little difference. He needed proper bandages. She draped his coat around his bare chest and stood up.

"The hospital is probably too far for us to make it on foot. I can try and call for help..." He shook his head again and grabbed at the wall behind him, palms scraping against the brick as he tried to get himself up. She put her arms under his and around his back, helping him up as best she could. She could feel the blood seeping into her dress as she did so. He groaned, hands drawn once more to the wounds and he said quietly "I'm not going to the hospital."  
"Don't be ridiculous. You need medical attention."  
"My house...in the next street."  
"You need a doctor."  
"I've got a nurse." He took a few staggering steps forward, pushing her aside with his sudden movement. Instinctively she found herself beside him, helping him keep his balance. “You can either come with me or leave." He said, voice strained. It was clear that he wasn't going to pay the slightest bit of notice to anything she said. “Okay. But walk slowly, and don't try to talk.” 

There was no reply when she hammered on the door to his house, windows dark and rooms quiet. Tommy, leaning with his side against the door muttered something about a key and directed her to try his trouser pockets. Stella found the cold metal as quickly as she could, acutely aware of the fact that a few curtains were twitching in the houses around them. It seemed even colder in the hallway than outside. Thomas tripped on the first stair and then the fourth, but seemed determined to drag himself up them, mumbling under his breath something to do with "Polly" and “new rugs". When they reached what seemed to be his room, she helped him to lay flat on the bed, and hastily lit whatever candles she could find, burning her fingertips slightly in the process. In the soft glow she could now better make out the true extent of the damage. The shirt strips were soaked and his face was damp with beads of sweat from the effort of making it up the stairs. "Mr Shelby? I need you to help me..." Through gritted teeth, he told her where she could find what she needed, and she slipped her shoes off so that she could get about the house as quickly as she could. As she hastened out of the room, she caught a glance at the time and felt her heart sink. Thomas Shelby would likely be fine, but Matron was going to kill her.

The cleaning process had been fairly routine, though she wasn't really used to her patients dousing the lining of their stomach and their wounds in equal measure with liquor straight from the bottle. It appeared to numb the pain when she stitched him up, but she made sure to wipe the cuts over with a damp cloth afterwards, to wipe away the cloying smell and the stickiness. She had sterilised the needle as best as she could, telling herself that if she had called and waited for a doctor, he would have probably lost too much blood. But she eyed her work doubtfully after she had finished. The sewing thread was nowhere near as strong as the catgut she was used to, and the lighting in the room was very poor. But, providing he rested the sutures should hold, even if they weren't the neatest. Looking at the rest of the scars on his chest, she supposed that the neatness wouldn't really concern him too much. This time she had been able to find clean bandages in a case in a woman's bedroom, though there wasn't much else left in the room but an dark hat and an embroidered handkerchief on the table next to the stripped bed. The last traces of a woman. A lover? Going by the bandages, evidently it was someone knew just how dangerous his life could be. Why did it always come down to the women to clean up the mess? As she wrapped the bandages around him, lifting his hips gently with a pillow, she saw his eyes flicker open. She supposed that he was probably too intoxicated to be aware of what was happening by now. "It's alright Mr Shelby. You were wounded, but you're going to be okay." She made to stand, and felt his fingers wrap around her wrist. "Stay." It wasn't a question, and despite the bottle being half empty, he seemed acutely aware of his surroundings. Stella paused for a moment, but nodded when she realised that she could hardly leave him alone.

“I couldn't go back to the hospital.” He said firmly.  
“You would have been in better hands if you had.” Stella was perched one the end of the bed, body turned away from his, looking down at all that was left of his shirt. She had brushed the carmine-stained strips aside before she had sewed him up, and they were strewn across the floor.  
“Oh I don't know. You seem to know what you're doing."  
"Well I have been trained Mr Shelby. Why couldn't you have gone to the hospital?"  
"I would have been an easy target.”  
She nodded slowly. “Well, you were lucky this time, the cuts weren't too deep. Enough to require a few days rest though. That’s non-negotiable.”  
“Are you going to stay to make sure I do?” His voice was teasing, but it reminded her of all the empty rooms in the house, and she wondered when, or even if anyone was going to return to take over her uncomfortable vigil.  
“I’m afraid I don't have the time.” It came out bluntly. He looked amused.  
“We’ve met before. In the hospital.”  
“Yes.” She remembered all too well. Not just how he had talked to her, but the effect that his presence had had on everyone else. He may as well have been royalty.  
“You don't like our family much do you?”  
“From what I’ve heard, there isn't much to like.”  
“But you helped me.”  
“I don't make a habit of walking away from injuries. Besides, I’ve seen much worse.”

He gave her one of those half-smiles and reached for the bottle again. He kept his eyes on her while he drank, and despite the chill to the room she felt her cheeks start to flame. She suddenly became very aware that this wasn’t the hospital, with its rigid order and polite but assertive staff. It wasn't even France, with the chaotic overcrowding and tensions running high. She was alone, with a man who people avoided in the street, for fear of accidentally looking at him in the wrong way. And he was smiling at her.


	2. Chapter 2

“So…Aren't there usually other people here by this time of night?” Stella had been pacing the room, impatience getting the better of her. Well, it was half that. The fact that Thomas had been watching her for what felt like hours had done little to put her at ease.  
“Why? Am I making you feel uncomfortable?”  
“No." It was spoken just too quickly to be convincing, and she dug her nails into her palm with annoyance as she continued "But I’m committed to helping more people than just you Mr Shelby.” She paused at the window, pulling the curtain aside to look out, but the street outside was empty. By then, the lights had begun to disappear in the windows around them.  
“It’s Thomas. Tommy if you prefer.”  
“Yes, I know.” She would prefer if she did not have to address him at all, let alone become on first name terms.  
“There’s a phone in my office. You can ring the hospital. Tell them that I need you tonight.”  
“Oh and ruin my reputation along with it?” She saw him raise his eyebrows and smirk and felt her annoyance rising again.  
“I didn't realise you were so highly regarded.”  
She was reminded of the way impudent children on the wards would sometimes talk to her. He was treated to the same withering smile she afforded them. “I’m not. Nor are you. That’s the problem.”  
“Well, I’m no doctor, but I imagine that it’ll do me no good trying to get under that skirt of yours when I’m in this state.” He'd closed his eyes again, but that was almost more disconcerting. She still felt like he was watching her, and she didn’t know where to cast her gaze.  
“I wouldn't let you try even if you were in perfect health.” She thought that saying it aloud would convince her it was the truth, even if those thoughts at the back of her mind had stirred a little at his words. It sounded a little more forced than she was aiming for.  
“Good, that’s cleared up then. So you’ll stay?”  
“Well I can't leave you alone. But I'm not going to be telling everyone I work with that I wasted the evening in Thomas Shelby’s bedroom.”  
“Wasted? I’m flattered.” She shook her head a little, smiling in spite of herself.  
“That’s not what I meant. It's just...”  
“My office’s the second door on the right when you get downstairs. Lie to them if you have to. I’m hardly likely to judge you, am I?”

When she had finished feeding one of the ward sisters a long and elaborate lie about her mother suddenly being taken ill, she leaned back against the wooden desk, feeling slightly ashamed. But if anyone at work knew where she really was…even if they believed it was just in a professional capacity, and she knew most people wouldn't. She’d brought a candle down with her, and in an effort to distract herself from her guilt, she began to look around the room. Books. Bottles. Ash trays. She noticed one of the drawers in his desk was ajar. Inside, there was a letter, folded so that she could only make out a name and a row of kisses beneath it. Unable to resist, she took it out carefully. The more you know… The writing was delicate, though it appeared to have been written in haste. She opened it out, eyes flicking back and forth and lips moving faintly as she read it hesitantly. She wasn't usually prone to invading peoples privacy, but Thomas Shelby was more than usually enigmatic and he conjured a more probing interest. As she drew the letter closer to the candle, to read where the ink had been smudged slightly, her arm brushed a glass at the edge of the desk and it fell onto the floorboards with an obnoxiously loud noise. The sound was enough to shock her interest away, and she folded the letter carefully, before tucking it back where it had been and shutting the drawer fully. She gingerly picked up the glass and put it back on the desk, before hastily making her way out of the room, eyes downcast like child expecting to be scolded. She walked up the stairs, her guilt now even worse. She knew she shouldn't have done it. When she got back to his room, she hesitated by the doorway. "Well come in then." She pulled a chair up to the bed and sat on it, looking over his scars. He seemed to have even more than he did when she had last seen him.

“I suppose it would be pointless asking who or why?” She said, indicating to his chest. Her fingertips nearly graced his side, and she drew her hand back, folded her arms.  
“Yes.”  
“You said last time that you were afraid that you were more vulnerable in the hospital.“  
“Afraid? Vulnerable? What had you given me to get me in the state where I would be talking like that?”  
“Perhaps I was reading between the lines. Were they same men?”   
“It’s not your concern.”  
“No, you’re right. But what else are we going to talk about?”  
“We could always sit in silence.”  
She tried to gauge whether he was joking, but his face was so impassive that it was hard to tell.  
“The room where I found the bandages…Whose was it?” She thought of the letter. Grace, it had been signed. Definitely a former lover, if the slightly pleading tone to her words had been anything to go by. Though maybe that was just how women began to behave around him after a while.  
“My aunt’s. She moved out a few weeks ago.”  
“Did she decide you were finally old enough to be left on your own? Because I think that current evidence would suggest otherwise.” Stella was almost bordering on enjoying herself by this point, wondering just how far a man like him could be pushed before he snapped.  
“I was finally able to give her the life that she deserves. A nice house. A maid. Everything she could have had, if she hadn't been lumbered with us for all these years.”

Stella made an amused noise, hands playing with the underside of the chair.  
“Something funny?”  
“You just didn't strike me as the type to care.”  
“I think you’re happy to underestimate me.”  
“Why happy?”  
“Black and white. Good and bad. The hero and the villain. It’s easier for most people to sort others into opposing groups.”  
“I’m not an idiot.”  
“You think there are ‘types’ of people. You think the fact that I can kill means that I can’t be capable of love.”  
“Yes. I do.” If the subtext in Grace’s letter hadn't stirred his heart then she was convinced of it.  
“I think we’re all the same. Under the politeness and the fear, that’s where you find everything you don't want to admit you feel. All the envy, and the lust, and the rage.”  
“You’re wrong.”  
“Am I?”  
“How’s your stomach?” She asked, trying to steer the conversation onto a safer level. His piercing gaze seemed to be burning through her.  
“I’ve been told it could be worse…” He slipped seamlessly from the cold appraisal to that louche and fleeting smile. Christ, how were you supposed to behave around this man?  
“We exist in different worlds Mr Shelby. How could we possibly be the same?” She asked, unable to resist.  
“Well for a start, we both have blood on our hands nearly everyday.”  
“Oh, very clever.”


	3. Chapter 3

Stella still wasn't sure about her stitches. She'd found the toughest thread she could, but she wasn't sure it would last when he started moving around, and doubtless he would attempt that too soon. Maybe when someone else showed up she could get them to persuade him to go and have himself seem to properly at the hospital. Though that would mean he would probably tell the doctor it was her who did them in the first place. She thought about this, chewing her lip absentmindedly, as she watched him, glad that he was finally resting. Would it really matter that much if everyone found out? She had lied about her mother, which was obviously not likely to make her look good. But if they realised she had done it to protect her reputation, then surely they wouldn't hold that against her? After all, it was her duty to care for the sick and the wounded. No matter who they were. She noticed Tommy smirking at her, eyes suddenly open again, and realised that she had begun to gnaw rather viciously on her lower lip. She drew her hand up to her lip, felt the torn skin and sighed.

"I thought you'd finally got off to sleep."  
"It's not that easy when you have someone watching you."  
"Oh I don't know. I've had patients who can't sleep without the knowledge that someone is there beside them. I suppose that, for some, nurses are even more consistent than family in that respect."  
"Soldiers?"  
"A few of them. Children too. But sometimes it's the people you least expect."   
"Maybe I've just slept alone for long enough."   
"Things not going your way Mr Shelby?" She knew that was probably a step too far.  
"It's late. There's a woman in my room who's had her hands all over me this evening. What do you think?"  
She supposed she deserved that. He continued calmly  
"What about you, aren't you tired?"  
"I'm used to it. Long hours don't bother me like they used to."  
"You still have to sleep though."  
"I will. Whenever someone else can take over watching you."  
"You make it sound like I'm a child."  
"You're nothing like one." She still felt a flicker of alarm at her daring. Whether she had helped him or not, venom like that could get her into serious trouble.  
A long pause followed, broken finally by Tommy shifting on the pillow uncomfortably, and reaching for her arm as he said  
"Help me get up."   
"I don't think that's a good idea."  
"Unless you want me to disgrace myself..."  
She knew from the delivery that he was deliberately trying to embarrass her. He would have to try far harder than that.  
"Oh I'm sure you've disgraced yourself in many other ways already." Honestly, it was like she couldn't stop herself.  
But he merely chuckled quietly.  
"Help me up then."

Shouldering some of his weight, she helped him out of bed and down the corridor. He gestured to the right door, and she nudged it carefully open with her foot. She stood beside him, arm up under his far armpit, eyes fixed on the wall in front of her. The paint was faded, chipped in a few places. She thought about what a bizarre turn the evening had taken. She should be walking the wards by now, checking the paperwork, talking to the other nurses. Tommy's breathing was still heavy, briefly touching at her cheek as they stood side by side and he angled his head to look at her. Am uncomfortable silence had settled, punctuated only by the sound of the unsteady flow, and her own slightly elevated heartbeat. Normally at the hospital this sort of thing felt easy, and she had cared for neighbours and the like in much the same way, without feeling so odd. But how could she comfort him like any other man? He was too difficult to read, too distant. She settled for being as steady and strong a support as he needed, and tried to convince herself that his fingers hadn't stroked lower over her hip as she waited.

When she had helped him back to his room, he had reached once more for the rapidly dwindling contents of the bottle, and she had gone to the window, almost praying that someone would return to deal with him. Someone. Anyone.  
"You're shivering."   
"Sorry?" Stella had caught sight of a shadow moving on the street outside and had missed his words, in her hope that her prayers had been answered.  
"C'mere." She watched the figure walk up to a house opposite, and sighed, letting the net fall back into place. She crossed the room to where he was sat on the edge of the bed, forearms resting on his thighs and eyes downcast. She hovered in front of him hesitantly, rubbing her upper arms a little to warm them up.  
"You're cold." She heard him mutter.   
"A little. But it doesn't bother me that much."  
"There's a blanket over there."  
"What about you?"  
"I'm fine."  
"You don't even have a shirt on." 

He still seemed pale and withdrawn, but he jokingly replied  
"Don't want to risk you tearing another to pieces."   
"I think you mean to say, saving your life." But his humour had put her at ease slightly. She perched down beside him, careful not to knock against him.  
"I would have managed. Perhaps you should carry bandages from now on though. Just in case."  
"Heaven forbid I ever find you wounded in the street again. Any more evenings off and I'll probably lose my position."   
"Well, if you do, I reckon I could do with a nurse about the house. I'm always getting myself into trouble." His knee brushed lightly against hers.  
Okay, now that was definitely not the direction things should be going in.  
"I don't think that would be a good idea Mr Shelby."  
"Why? D'you not trust yourself?"  
The implication was enough to cause one of her legs to cross over the other with a rather unfortunate pace and transparency.  
"I think that this conversation has taken a wrong turn somewhere."  
"I don't think so."   
Christ, was she actually blushing? This was ridiculous.   
"You should lie down Mr Shelby."  
"And why should I do that?"  
"To help you heal." She replied firmly, attempting to ignore his tone. She stood up, giving him the room to slowly ease himself back into his previous position. She found the other blanket and carefully lay it across him.   
"I think that you're lying to yourself." He said as she did so  
"About what?"  
"Everything."  
"That's quite a statement."  
"Just about me then."  
She shook her head, almost with amusement.  
"Is this what you do? Because it won't work, as much as my flaming cheeks would suggest otherwise. It's not lust Mr Shelby. It's embarrassment."  
He smiled at that, probably the most genuine smile she had seen all evening.  
"It was worth a try."  
"Rejection'll probably do you good. I imagine you don't get turned down very often."  
"Oh you'd be surprised."

Stella cocked her head with interest, eyes questioning.  
"Women want stability. Not my area of expertise."  
"You're wealthy enough. You're certainly feared enough. Isn't that stability of a kind?"  
"Scars and open wounds indicate fear and wealth to you?"  
"These days, yes."  
"Well maybe I want more than someone who's looking for comfort and safety."   
"Natural human instincts..."  
"Not for a soldier." He paused. "Or a nurse serving on the French coast."  
She sighed deeply, wondering how to reply. He was right of course. But she could hardly tell him that. Not now.  
"You have to move on, Mr Shelby. Leave it behind."  
"Like you?"  
"No...well. Perhaps I'm not the best example of recovery."  
"But you still expect me to do as you say?"  
"Well there isn't anyone else here to tell you is there?" She snapped in reply, annoyed at his repeated questioning.  
"You should watch your tone." It was quiet, but threatening. His eyes flicked from her to the ceiling dismissively.   
"Don't give me that. You've had all evening to react aggressively, and you've done nothing but try to seduce me or put me on edge. Evidently it's your brothers to whom I must attribute the Shelby reputation for violence." She stood up and began pacing as he replied.  
"Why are you so eager to make me forget? Are you still trying to heal me? Or is it because you can't heal yourself, no matter how hard you try?"  
She whirled around to glare at him, arms folded and fists balled.  
"You show touching concern."   
"I'm just taking an interest."  
"Well it isn't appreciated, so you can stop."  
"Your brother--"  
"Don't you dare."  
They watched each other, both waiting for the next few words, for something to happen. Stella's chest rose and fell beneath her uniform more visibly in her annoyance, her breathing elevated and her cheeks still flushed. Tommy looked as cool and collected as ever. Stella wondered bitterly how a man recently cut up on the street could maintain more composure than a trained nurse.

A door slammed shut beneath them, and they both flinched. A gruff male voice could be heard calling Tommy's name, followed by footsteps on the staircase. Stella broke their frozen moment, crossing the room to pick up her coat as Arthur Shelby swung open the door.  
"Tommy I...Who's she?" He looked at her uneasily and then over at the bed.  
"Your brother was injured, and I found him a few streets away. I've tidied him up as best I could, but he'll need to take it easy for a while, and you'll need to get him to a hospital if the stitches don't hold."   
Arthur lifted the blanket and saw the bandages.  
"Fucking bastards."  
"Language, Arthur." Tommy reprimanded calmly, and Arthur turned towards her briefly with an apologetic nod.  
"Sorry."  
"It's fine. I should go, now there's someone here to keep an eye on him."  
"Right."  
She put her coat on, brushing dirt from the sleeve where she had evidently scraped it on the pavement where she had found him. Tommy spoke from behind Arthur's frame.  
"Will I see you again?"  
"If you continue to put your life at risk, then yes, I dare say you will."  
"Till next time then." She didn't like the sound of that.  
"Goodbye Mr Shelby."

Never before had she been so happy to escape into gusting winter air. It carried a fine damp mist, and blew the trailing strands of hair from her cap about her neck, but at least it calmed her burning cheeks down. Small mercies, she supposed. She was certainly owed some after the night she'd had...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I will do more with these two in the future, but I've finally finished this one, and I'm fairly happy with it.

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously bear in mind that I have no medical training at all, and that I have never been attacked with a knife, so I am just going with my instincts and info from Google when it comes to description of that stuff.


End file.
